Doing My Laundry and the Myth of Sisyphus

By David Michael Newstead.

It happened again. My pile of laundry steadily grew until circumstances demanded that I wash it. This was inevitable, I suppose. It’s part of the logistics of being an adult that I didn’t give any thought to once upon a time. Years ago, I had no real concept of the nuts and bolts of adulthood, even if I thought I did. Then one day, there it was – work, bills, and laundry. Tasks that I never finish no matter how many times I complete them. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, of course. It’s just different than what I imagined. Before, I could only see the independence and the maturity, but I never considered the price tag. Or quite frankly the upkeep, which is the real issue. Because although you might want a lot of things from life, how many things do you want to have to constantly maintain? As for me, I wash and dry my laundry every week or two. I drag the hamper up to my apartment, folding and hanging things as necessary. Then as soon as I finish, I pretty much start all over again. And maybe there’s something funny about that to me.

 

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